


Mothers

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Semi-Crack, Semi-Serious, Sort of an AU, except not entirely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Nerdanel's and Aredhel's sons are imprisoned indefinitely in the Halls of Mandos. And they decide they will not stand for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mothers

“Ah, Nerdanel. Have you come to ask for your husband back? Because you must know that - ”

“ _No._  I’ve come to get my sons back.”

She had gazed up at Námo proudly, not even flinching when he had refused. The tears only came later, when she was alone.  _No matter. I will try again_ , she thought.  _I will keep trying until the ending of Arda._

It got harder to keep thinking this after the eighth or ninth refusal, and then the tenth, the momentary hope and then the inevitable disappointment each time chipping away at her resolve like a chisel against stone. She arrived home from the Gardens, feeling as exhausted and useless as she had all that time ago, when she had left her husband. Her eyes prickled with hot tears of anger as she let herself into her house, and she wiped them away roughly, in frustration. She lived alone now, just outside the walls of Tirion. The cottage that was mostly her studio felt very large and empty, especially at times like this.

But this time, she realised, it was not empty. There was a fire crackling in the grate, and sitting in front of it was Irissë.

“You left your door open”, she said apologetically, as Nerdanel stared at her. “But I came on business. I hear you have been campaigning for the release of your sons.”

Nerdanel stiffened and said nothing.

“My son is also held by Námo. Indefinitely, without trial. You have heard what Lómion did?”

Nerdanel nodded. Of course she had, everyone had.

“Even  _Turukáno_  has forgiven him!” burst out Irissë, her voice rising in frustration. “It’s not - ”

“Right?” finished Nerdanel, her eyes shining as she went to sit down beside Irissë, placing an arm around her and stroking her hair. “No. No it’s not. I just feel…”

“Useless? Patronised?”

“ _Yes._ ” Nerdanel could feel the tears coming back as Irissë articulated her own thoughts.

“But could we not… what I was thinking was… let’s  _do_ something about it. Even if we fail. Even if they try to silence us, crush us, kill us. At least we would be doing _something_.”

Nerdanel stared at her, a slow smile forming on her face. “Tell me more.”

——-

They chose their allies carefully. Nerdanel cautiously made contact with the wives of her sons. She knew it was a risk, but one that she felt they had to take. She did not ask Tyelperinquar, unsure of his loyalties. Irissë did not dare involve her own family. Turukáno and her mother and father were too beloved of the Valar, and Findekáno and Arakáno were too newly reimbodied. In truth, she worried about the effect it would have on Findekáno, having his hopes dashed over and over. They took care not to make anyone join them, only accepting people who knew that the wrath of the Valar could easily come down hard upon them, and probably would. Who did not care, because they had nothing left to lose. 

They sewed banners, white and orange, with a new sigil. Nerdanel would not use the star of Fëanáro, that much she made clear. Their fight was a different one. But as she made speeches in Tirion (standing on the base of the statue of Yavanna in the market square, the statue she had made. There were no platforms for public speaking in Tirion, a subtle attempt, she realised now, to quash resistance before it began) she could not help but think of Fëanáro. She pushed the thoughts away angrily, and shouted over the heads of the crowds of milling people, interested more in the spectacle than what she was saying, until her face was red and her throat hoarse. She openly threw down the sigil of Aulë she had worn on a cord around her neck since childhood, making a show of crushing it against the paving stones with her boot heel.

They organised demonstrations, printed pamphlets. They marched through the streets, their supporters wearing orange and white armbands. Irissë held their banner high, her face gave and proud, and sounded her hunting horn.

The protests were peaceful, for the most part, although once there was a small breakaway group who began lighting crumpled paper and throwing it into the air in the general direction of Taniquetil. Nerdanel felt sick at the mere thought of flames, screaming for them to stop. But it was no good, her words were lost in the roaring of the crowd.

Tulkas appeared then, clenching his fists and cracking his knuckles. It was the first time the Valar had openly acknowledged the existence of the movement. The crowd dispersed. But he damage was done, and Nerdanel knew that there was no going back now. She felt a curious thrill from the notion.

Rumours spread. About Nerdanel, about Irissë, about their relationship. About Irissë’s past relationships with Nerdanel’s sons, claims of drunken, debauched nights in the forest with some, or sometimes all, of the brothers. The rumours were confused, claiming that Irissë had given her  _fëa_  over to Morgoth to get Lómion back. (How this was possible, since she had been in the Halls at the time, she was not sure.) How she and her son had orchestrated the fall of Gondolin to spite her brother.

And of course the rumours that Nerdanel’s sons were not all Fëanáro’s persisted, and grew in persuasiveness. She found these particular whisperings did not bother her quite as much anymore.

Nerdanel made crude clay sculptures of her sons, although their faces were left blank, the clay washed with thin white paint. They left them around the streets of Tirion at night, a peaceful but unnerving protest, silently watching the market traders in the early morning.

Then one night things changed. Irissë went out in the middle of the night, hooded and cloaked to hide her white clothes, bearing a brush and paint. She made for the main square, planning to paint their slogans across the statues of the Valar. (Nerdanel gained a grim satisfaction from that, from reclaiming her own statues, the marble faces of the Valar repurposed, the stone pushed back into the her own service.) The next thing Nerdanel knew, a messenger was at the door, hooded and panting. “It’s Irissë. She begs you go to the house of Nolofinwë. Now.”

Nerdanel did not even think to question whether it may be a trap. Barely remembering to seize her cloak on the way out, pulling the hood up over her bright hair to avoid being recognised, she hurried out of the house.

She found Irissë, sitting in the back garden with Findekáno. She drew in a sharp breath, seeing blooming purple bruise swelling one eye, the dark blood clotting on her forehead, dripping down her cheek. Findekáno was gently cleaning it away with a cloth, his arm around his sister as she bit back tears. They both looked up as Nerdanel approached, their eyes blazing with identical pain and pride. Irissë had been caught, they explained between them. She had been seen by some staunch Valar loyalists, ones that still kept the very Noldorin custom of carrying pocketfuls of cheaply made gemstones, for trade. And, it appeared, they were not above using them as projectiles. Nerdanel clenched her fists, wanting to scream, but instead biting her lip until it bled. She looked at Findekáno.

“Join us” she said, on an impulse.

He held her gaze. “I already have.”

Findekáno would stay undercover, it was decided. He had Manwë’s favour, which could be useful to them for information. Anairë, too, joined the movement, although by all appearances she was still the upstanding citizen and the entirely respectable wife of the King’s brother that she had always been.

One day, without warning, the confused message that Maitimo would be released began to circulate around Tirion. It came as a shock to Nerdanel. But she understood, with a sickening certainty, what was going on. By releasing only one of her sons at their own pace, at their own discretion, the Valar meant to discredit her, by appearing to be reasonable, and to listen to her demands. And what mother could argue with the release of her son? But behind it, Nerdanel saw the true intentions of Manwë, his subtle intent to exert control. It was good, pointed out Irissë. It meant the Valar regarded them as a genuine challenge. A threat, even. Nerdanel was not so sure.

She would not comply with their plans for her, their implicit demands, dressed up in a thin veil of compassion. Findekáno went to the Gardens to get Maitimo, alone. But she wept when they returned, clasping her eldest son to her chest as if she were drowning and he was the only thing keeping her afloat. He wept too, for his brothers and his father and everything that had been lost and could never be regained.

Irissë lived with her now, as did Findekáno and Maitimo. They went out little, as they often received hostile glances, sometimes even threats or objects thrown at them, if they were seen in Tirion. Anairë brought them supplies, and news.

They waited, biding their time.

Then one day, the summons came from Taniquetil. Nerdanel and Irissë were to present their terms to Manwë.

“Do not go” pleaded Maitimo, pain on his face. “They are not truly summoning you to let you plead your case, but to gain grounds to condemn you too.”

Nerdanel looked him in the eye. “Perhaps, my son. Perhaps.”

They left the next morning.

 -----

The Valar were seated in the imposing white marble council chamber upon the very summit of Taniquetil. Nerdanel and Irissë stood before the semi-circle of thrones, shoulder to shoulder before Manwë, defiant. Nerdanel spoke brusquely, before he could address her.

“You received our demands, I trust?”

Manwë smiled indulgently. “We did. They are most… how should I say it… the list is most comprehensive.”

He unfolded a sheaf of papers before him, reading aloud. “Release all prisoners held in the Halls against their will, and subject them to a fair trial by their peers. Abolish the use of eternal solitary confinement with no chance of appeal as a punishment. Allow free movement of people across the sea, in both directions. Allow the Noldor to institute a popularly elected government, free from Ainur interference…” he raised an eyebrow, paging through the document, “…et cetera.”

Irissë was scowling. Nerdanel quelled her with a glance. “Yes, that is the general gist of it” she said evenly. “You missed the abolition of curses as a form of punishment. We feel that is fairly important.”

Manwë smiled kindly at her. “My dear child, when you put it like that… but you know, do you not, that it’s not that simple? Everything was done for your people’s own protection, you must understand. I realise that you have lost your sons, and I know it must be hard. But only once you have accepted that they deserved everything they got, can you be truly happy.”

“Then I will  _happily_  never be “ _truly happy_ ” again in my life!” spat Irissë. “My son was tortured. Did you know that? Yes, you probably did, from the sad songs and the regretful words the eagles whisper in your ears. He tried to give up, because he had suffered too much, and he won an eternity of imprisonment for his pain.”

Manwë said nothing, but simply gave her a pitying look.

“I take it, then, that you do not accept the terms?” asked Nerdanel.

Manwë sighed heavily. “I would love to. But you know that I am bound by-”

“By the will of Eru?” Nerdanel’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Yes, because I am sure it has everything to do with Eru directly whispering in your ear, and nothing whatsoever to do with you being unsure of His will, and thus keeping our children locked away until the end of days when you no longer need to worry about controlling them, or even deciding what to do with them?”

Aulë spoke next “My dear Nerdanel. Please, try to see reason. You used to be - ”

She smiled wryly at her former mentor. “What? A good, obedient little girl? I daresay I was that, once.” She nodded at Irissë. “I think it’s time, don’t you?”

Irissë grinned, and went to the window of the council chamber, throwing it wide. She lept easily onto the sill, drawing the bow at the her back and nocking an arrow, all in one fluid motion. Then she extracted a box of matches from her pocket, and lit a strip of fabric that was tied just below the arrow head.

“You should really confiscate the weapons from your guests when they come in for a  _mutually productive_  debate such as this one,” Nerdanel continued, “just because you are not vulnerable to physical harm does not mean that your rule is.”

Varda looked towards Irissë in confusion. “I fail to see - ”

“Outside” said Nerdanel “Is a small open well, a little way down the mountain. It looks like an inconsequential thing really. But the truth is, it leads to an intricate system of tunnels that run through and under Taniquetil” she paused, amused, seeing the disbelief on the faces of the Valar. “You knew, did you not, that the Noldor are skilled at delving in the earth? What do you think our followers have been  _doing_  all this time? Do you imagine we were only printing pamphlets and defacing a few statues in Tirion?”

The Valar were silent.

“No” said Nerdanel. “There are tunnels, and rather unfortunately for you and the Vanyar living on this mountain, they are stuffed with one of my husband’s final works, a rather fine explosive compound.”

“Even if that were true, I fail to see…”

“I am a very good shot” said Irissë, turning around to face the Valar, and smiling sweetly. “I am sure Oromë can attest that I could easily hit a target the size of that well with this flaming arrow, even if my talents were mostly ignored in favour of Tyelkormo’s.”

Oromë nodded grimly, but did not speak.

“If Námo does not realease our sons, and all the others who want to be released, right now, then we will blow up this mountain and everyone on it” said Nerdanel patiently.

Manwë blinked, and then narrowed his eyes. “We of the Valar cannot be slain by any means such as this, as you well know.” His voice was lower now, threatening, with a crackle of menace like thunder amid storm clouds. “You would only kill innocent Vanyar, making you no better than your accursed husband and sons. And their  _fëar_ would return within a few short years, so even if killing was the sole, bloodthirsty intention of your campaign, you would still be thwarted.”

But Nerdanel only smiled. “You may rehouse the  _fëar_ of those of Ingwë’s people who live here, but you will never have their trust or loyalty again. In fact, they will probably all join us, once they have heard that you were willing to let them die.”

There was a long silence in the hall, as the Valar looked at each other. Then Irissë spoke. “So? What will it be?”

Manwë sighed, darting an uncomfortable glance at Námo. “Release them” he instructed. “Then we will discuss the other demands, once the threat is gone.”

“My Lord, are you sure - ”

“Just do it!”

Námo took a deep breath, throwing back his hood and raising his arms. Then he began to sing. The song was slow and haunting at first, but then it began to pick up speed, and it seemed to Irissë that she could identify threads of individual melodies in the song, some of them bright and familiar, some unknown, but all extremely alive, somehow  _more_  than simply sounds in the air. They were  _fëar_ , she realised with a surge of joy. She remembered witnessing her two elder brothers’ reimbodiments. It had been like this, but now there were so  _many_ … her heart stopped for a moment, as she felt the familiar brush of her son’s presence, somewhere within the whirlpool of entangled memories, thoughts, experiences. Love bloomed inside her, as she realised how deep those memories had been locked away within her heart, so as not to destroy it utterly. For a instant, the world was simply blank, wordless joy. Then, all of a sudden, it stopped.

Nerdanel was blinking, as though stepping out from a dark room into the light.

“I… thank you” she said weakly. Then she seemed to remember herself, drawing herself up a little straighter. “They awoke in the Gardens, I take it?”

“Yes” said Námo. “If you want proof…”

“That… was proof enough” replied Nerdanel, looking a little shaken and making Irissë wonder what  _she_  had witnessed. Then she smiled broadly. “But if you’ll take advice from a humble Noldo, I suggest  _you_  be the ones to ask for proof next time. Tunnels? Explosives? Secret well?  _Please_. Did you  _honestly_  believe that?”

Manwë’s mouth dropped open.

“Irissë” Nerdanel called. “Don’t you think it’s time we saw our children again?”

Irissë smiled warmly, just as the flame burned out on the arrowhead. “I should think so.” She whistled. Huan came loping out from behind Oromë’s throne, and, putting his paws on her shoulders and almost knocking her over, he licked her face, his tongue hot and rough. She grinned at Oromë’s muffled exclamation, and looked Huan in his large, dark eyes. “Do you think you can carry two on your back?”

In answer, he licked her again, tail wagging furiously. She and Nerdanel climbed onto his back, and Huan loped from the hall, leaving the Valar in stunned silence.

Once they were out of the door, Irissë whispered in Huan’s ear. “We’re going to have to make a stop, my old friend. There is a well, about half-way down the mountain. And there is a fuse I have to light.”

“Should take about ten minutes to burn through” said Nerdanel conversationally. “Which will give us ample time to escape. I’m glad Ingwë actually listened to our advice. Indis said the Vanyarin evacuees will have a safe place in Tirion for as long as they like.”

They reached the well, which led down to the tunnels. A long string protruded from the circular gap, through which was visible only blackness below. But they both knew well enough what the tunnels truly contained. Irissë struck a match, and lit the fuse.

They were far away, racing southwards at Huan’s tireless, bounding pace, before they heard the muffled explosion in the distance.

They did not turn to look behind them.


End file.
